


Dark Side of Me

by UnluckyMagician (Zendelai)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Half Plot, I made up a planet, Kylo POV, Kylo is a giver, One-Shot, PWP, The Last Jedi Spoilers, deal w it, half smut, well actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 07:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13542723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zendelai/pseuds/UnluckyMagician
Summary: Kylo Ren tries to determine if he'll ever be capable of anything beyond destruction.





	Dark Side of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shortystylee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortystylee/gifts).



> IT'S ALMOST MY BESTIE J'S BIRTHDAY!!  
> So to celebrate that joyous occasion, I have written her this little one-shot. It has some plot, some smut, and a big variance from my usual writing style.  
> Happy birthday to a truly amazing person, who inspires me every day and brings my life so much joy, even amidst turbulence. Ilu <3

He destroys everything he touches.

 

At times the destruction is a balm for a greater pain. Failure. Loss. Disappointment.

 

Other times, the destruction _ is _ the greater pain.

 

As it is with Rey.

 

They touched, and he saw -- for the first time in longer than he could remember, something that wasn’t destruction. 

 

He saw creation. He saw love. 

 

He saw  _ hope _ .

 

That hope had struck his heart like lightning, waking him from an eternal slumber. 

 

In that moment, he wanted --

 

Unity over divisiveness.

 

Hope over despair.

 

Life over death.

 

Light over darkness.

 

But as he was wont to do, he wanted too much. He wanted it all. He wanted the galaxy, and he wanted her, and he wanted the  _ kriffing _ Resistance gone and the  _ kriffing _ First Order gone and  _ kriffing _ Luke Skywalker dead, and if he had learned anything over the years, if he wanted too much, he ended up with nothing.

 

It is how he ended up here, alone.

 

On a hollow throne with an empty heart, given everything and wanting nothing.

 

Nothing but Rey.

 

* * *

 

“Supreme Leader --” Hux always says it with a snarl, not bothering to veil his disdain, “-- there have been no Resistance sightings.”

 

Kylo doesn’t care. He ought to, it is his duty as the Supreme Leader, but the hunt for the Resistance feels petty beside his greater need. “Search the Outer Rim. Leave no planet untouched.”

 

With a sneer, Hux turns on his heel and leaves, leaving Kylo alone in the throne room with only his guard complement.

 

He reaches out with the Force, and  _ he _ searches. For her radiant Force power, for their bond. 

 

Still he is unsure if it is in tact or shattered. To know, he must find her.

 

And find her he will.

 

* * *

 

For weeks, he searches, and his searches come up empty.

 

The galaxy is a big place, but nonetheless, he grows frustrated. To him she is the sun, so bright she can’t be missed, so why can’t he find the sun? 

 

He grows angry from impatience, and one night, he takes his saber to his traitorous throne, cutting it into pieces. 

 

After all, destruction is all he knows.

 

* * *

 

A month passes before it happens.

 

He is searching a backwater system in the outer rim, the sort run by gangsters and cartels, when the Force pulls him to a moon. Like an apprentice he gasps at the strong tug on his navel, pulling him with such great strength that he doesn’t resist. The moon is barely inhabited, more dust and rock than life, but he sees a lone settlement, large enough to house perhaps a hundred souls. 

 

It is there that he sees her.

 

She is surrounded by the Force, but not like radiant sunlight; she contains it, like a shield, shimmering around her. She is at the head of a round table, issuing commands to Resistance fighters, looking every bit like the leader she was meant to be. The leader that should be at  _ his _ side. 

 

It suits her.

 

He feels it: the pull of the Bond, more present than ever, and at once he can feel  _ her _ as strong as he can feel himself. She is anxious, she is contemplative, she is worried.

 

She doesn’t flinch when she senses him. She talks and commands, business as usual, but her head infinitesimally turns towards him, her eyes finding him. 

  
  


Suddenly, he knows.

 

She has been searching for him, too.

 

“We’ll move our operations to Tallis IV, then.” Visibly, she speaks to the Resistance, but he  _ knows _ she speaks to him, too. “We can meet with our allies there and attempt to bolster our forces.”

 

Kylo pulls away. He is back in the throne room; he is again one person, no longer two. He feels empty, but at least now, he has a purpose.

 

Swiftly he stands, addressing the nearest trooper.

 

“Prepare my ship.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t sleep. He can’t sleep. 

 

He only sees her eyes, boring into his.

 

In her hut on Ahch-To. In the elevator on Snoke’s command ship. In the backwater moon’s command center. 

 

At first, he thought they were brown. He knows better, now. They are gold, and green, and blue, a forest and a sea within her gaze. 

 

While he travels, he paces. Impatient, but not angry.  

 

For once, he does not destroy.

 

* * *

 

Tallis IV is a garbage planet, but it’s a step up from the backwater moon.

 

Kylo had stopped at a neighboring planet to park his shuttle and rent a more inconspicuous ship as to not alert the locals to his presence. He pulls on a shabby cloak over his clothing and pulls the hood up, blending in with the cattle on the streets.

 

The moment he departs his ship, he feels Rey. She is on the other side of the town that holds the spaceport, lodged with the rest of the Resistance fighters. 

 

Across the bond he reaches, murmuring to her, “Come find me,” his words hidden by the susurration of the crowd.

 

He finds a hotel. It’s in a disreputable corner of town, but they don’t question him when he refuses to give ID and pays with untraceable credits.

 

He focuses on the room number -- 404 -- before letting himself in.

 

He requested the nicest room in the place, and although it’s nothing next to what the First Order offers him, it’s clean. It has a table, chairs.

 

A bed.

 

He paces, while waiting for her. He doesn’t push the boundaries of the bond. He know she’ll come, when she’s ready.

 

* * *

 

There’s a knock at the door. He both hears it and feels it.

 

He opens the door, and she is there.

 

She wears her usual rags, a reminder of from where she came. Her hair is down, brushing against her shoulders. Her expression is carefully scolded into neutrality, but when he prods at the bond, he finds a mix of apprehension and joy burdened by guilt.

 

He wants to say so many things. “You’re here.” “I’m sorry.” “Come away with me.” He wants to hold her, he wants to kiss her, he wants to fuck her. But with her, there, right before him, nothing feels right.

 

Finally, she speaks. “You disappointed me.” Her words are harsh but he senses forgiveness within her. She lets herself in. He locks the door.

 

She doesn’t look at him when she asks, “What did Snoke show you, in your vision of the future?” Her shoulders are stiff. Her gaze finds a window, blinds open, looking out upon the spaceport. 

 

“You were my queen, powerful and beautiful. We held the galaxy within our grasp and brought up a new generation of Force users. No Sith, no Jedi, only power.”

 

“Do you know what I saw?”

 

He doesn’t answer, and she turns her gaze to him. It crumbles him. “You joined the Resistance. You went back to the Light.” She turns her body now towards him, too, and he trembles, coming unhinged in her presence. “I see one of two paths for us, Ben.” A shiver wracks through him when she calls him Ben. “I won’t follow the path of your vision. I won’t rule the galaxy. But I won’t follow the path of mine, either, because I know it’s a lie.”

 

He frowns, but he knew she would say this. Eyes blazing, she continues. “Here is how I see it. We can keep chasing each other, keep fighting. Recklessly expend the power given to us, killing countless Resistance fighters, First Order troopers, and civilians. At the end… perhaps the Resistance will prevail, and the Jedi Order will continue, and you will either be dead or in chains. Or perhaps it will be the First Order who will prevail, and you will be the ruler of the galaxy, and I will be dead.”

 

No. That could not pass. He could accept his own death, but not hers.

 

“Or,” she continues, “the second option. We dissolve the First Order and the Resistance and exile ourselves. Power like ours does not shape or uphold the galaxy, it destroys it. Let the Jedi and the Sith legacies die with us. I have read the sacred Jedi texts, I have learned the history of the Jedi, it is time for both the Jedi and the Sith to end. And if you take the first option and we fight and the Resistance prevails, I will end them anyways.”

 

She steps towards him. He smells her -- clean and fresh and neutral. 

 

“What do  _ you _ want, Ben?”

 

For an eternity, there is silence. 

 

His thoughts are -- a jumble of what he wants and what Snoke wanted. Snoke was his master, and even in death, Kylo feels the ripples of his master’s desires. Power. Leadership. The galaxy within his palm. The end of the Republic, the Resistance, his reign unquestioned. The destruction of Luke, of Han, of every bit of his corrupt and ruined past.

 

They were the desires of Snoke -- and of Kylo.

 

What did  _ Ben _ want?

 

Ben wanted Rey at his side. He, too, wanted the past gone, but was dissolvement not preferable to destruction? Hux would fight him over it, but he would win. With the First Order gone, they could convince Leia to disband the Resistance. 

 

Ben wanted -- a respite from the pain, for the battle of light and dark within him to end. He wanted peace within himself. Why rule the galaxy and create peace within it when a war eternally raged inside of him?

 

Who would he become -- who Snoke wanted Kylo Ren to be, or who Ben had wanted to be from the beginning, before Luke betrayed him and he destroyed himself?

 

The answer, he knows, is simple.

 

He says, “Okay.”

 

For the first time, she smiles at him, and he knows he’s made the right decision.

 

“Okay?” she asks, her voice high.

 

“Okay,” he says, and he  _ smiles _ . He hasn’t smiled in --

 

“Fuck the First Order,” he says, and she  _ laughs _ . It’s even more wonderful than her smile, a gentle sound that fills the room and makes a dingy place bright. “Fuck the Resistance. Fuck the Jedi and the Sith. Fuck the galaxy.”

 

They move together.

 

Closer.

 

He slips his gloves off, tossing them aside.

 

Her breath is rushed and he feels it; her heart is racing and he feels it. 

 

He feels everything.

 

Her hands around his neck. His hands on her waist. The toes of their boots touching.

 

She is on her toes.

 

He is bending down.

 

Somewhere in the middle, their lips meet. 

 

She is gentle, her kiss a caress; he is rougher, more hungry, and it makes them clumsy. They recover quickly, finding their rhythm; her bottom lip slips between his, her eyelashes flutter against his cheek, her hands seek purchase on his cloak. 

 

She pulls away to gasp, and he pulls her in again.

 

He will not let her go.

 

Never again.

 

Fistfulls of her rags are in his palms as he pulls her against him, tighter, tighter. Her breath against his mouth is ragged, her teeth run along his lower lip and he buckles. 

 

She runs her tongue along the seam of his lips, and through the bond, he feels the word  _ please. _ Yes, he thinks, always, and he parts for her. Her tongue slips in, tasting, exploring, and nothing in his life has ever felt so wonderful as the moment when his tongue meets hers. She tastes as she smells: fresh, and clean, and,  _ oh _ , when she plunges her hands into his hair he thinks that he may die, right there. She had nearly killed him before, back on Starkiller base, back when she hovered over him like a predator, and now she will kill him again, but this time he will die happy.

 

The bed is behind him.

 

It had only been an object before, but now, as she pushes him towards it, it holds promise. 

 

He swears she uses the Force when she pushes him back, back, until his calves knock against the edge of the frame and he’s sinking onto its stiff and unforgiving surface.

 

She’s looking down on him, again. She’s predator, and he’s prey. She’s hungry, he can see it in her eyes, feel it in the pit of her stomach. 

 

He grabs the backs of her thighs -- they’re firm beneath his touch -- and pulls her between his legs. His face is level with her belly, here. His hands rise along her hips, and his thumbs find the indents at the peak of her hipbones.

 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, squeezing. He wants to bury his face into her stomach, tear her apart from the inside out, but if he doesn’t stop now, his face so close to the musk of her sex, he won’t be able to.

 

“No.” It’s a harsh whisper, punctuated by a gasp when he runs his fingers beneath her rags and along the waistband of her trousers. 

 

He looks up, into her eyes, pupils blown dark. “Are you sure?”

 

She gasps, “Yes.” 

 

He finds the cinch around her waist and unclasps it, pulling the rags down so the pool at her feet. Eyes still locked, she steps out of her boots, kicking them aside. 

 

She could kill him, if she wanted to. But she won’t. He trusts her. 

 

His fingers slip under her top, sliding it up, and he presses kisses there, along the bottom of her belly. She sighs as his breath trails along her skin, leaving goosebumps. 

 

He’s hard, straining against his pants. But that can wait, for now. It’s her turn.

 

He pulls her down on top of him and then flips her, hovering over her. Hungry. Starving. She is wide-eyed as he kisses and tastes the salt of her neck. She shivers when he runs his hand along her side and lifts her shirt, grazing his teeth along her ribcage. A sweetness mingles with the salt of her skin. 

 

“Ben--”

 

He brings her shirt up, up, over her head, and her torso is only covered by a thin, white band over her breasts. He mouths her chest through the band, growling deep in his throat when the heat of his breath causes her nipples to appear through the fabric. 

 

He tears it.

 

He barely realizes he does it, it’s just -- there, and then gone, in shreds in his hands. And she is bare-chested before him, dusty rose nipples small and alert, and he attacks them ferociously with tongue, lips, and fingertips. 

 

Her back is arching into him. 

 

His cock aches as it twitches against his pants.

 

“I need to taste you.” He growls it, sounding more animal than man. Hungry lips travel down the planes of her body. He grasps the fabric of the waistband of her pants -- they feel so fragile, he could tear these too, destroy them. But he doesn’t, he pulls them down, over sharp hips, strong thighs, bony knees, bruised calves. He presses kisses to the insides of her ankles before pulling her feet through.

 

She is bare before him.

 

Naked, but not vulnerable. 

 

Not Rey, never vulnerable.

 

She trails one hand down and slips a lone finger through the dark, curly hair at the apex of her thighs and, watching him, slips it inside.

 

He growls. He is hungry. He is possessive. He places one knee between her legs and pulls her hand up and to his mouth, sucking away her sweet juices there. 

 

“I’m at a disadvantage,” she drawls. “Shirt, off.”

 

He obliges, pulling it overhead without a thought. Her eyes go wide at the sight of his bare chest. 

 

“Keep your hands still,” he instructs, and he dives between her legs. With curious fingers he parts her folds, breathing in her sweet smell. He tastes her and oh, fuck, lightning could strike him down now and he would die the happiest man in the galaxy. 

 

At first, he only tastes, his tongue brushing lightly against her clit, and every press against the tight ball of nerves  _ he _ feels too, through their bond, and the taste of her and the feeling of the sensations she’s experiencing makes his head spin. 

 

He slides one finger inside of her.

 

She is wet, and hot, and he has never felt anything so delicate and perfect in his life, and he has to run through his pilot’s checklist to kept himself from coming when he hears her small moan when his tongue and finger move together.

 

He could do this, and only this, forever. Tasting her, feeling her clench around his digit, listening to her ragged breaths and soft moans. His knees weaken when her thighs clamp around his ears, his fucking ears, he usually hates them but now he does not. 

 

She is keening.

 

He is moving quicker.

 

She is wet, so wet, and her juices are sliding down his chin, and this moment is exquisite and she is a goddess and  _ nothing  _ in the galaxy could equal this moment. Her hips are writhing, her chest is flushed, and she is bucking against him, hard, her hips driving against his mouth, and in between choruses of “fuck” he hears it.

 

“Ben.”

 

His name, whispered as a prayer between her lips, the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. 

 

Death, take him now, nothing could be better than this.

 

She sits up and kisses him, tasting herself on his lips.

 

“Fuck me,” she murmurs against his mouth.

 

He would not deny her request.

 

Grabbing her hips, he flips her onto her stomach. He steps off the bed and drops his pants, the air cold against his cock when its released. Rey’s back is flushed red, and he cups her ass in his hand. 

 

He wants her.

 

He needs her.

 

He kneels on the bed and pulls her hips up. He dips down, tasting her cunt one last time, before he lines his cock up. 

 

He can’t stop, now. 

 

She pushes against him.

 

He glides into her.

 

His hands dig into her ass as she closes around him, pulling him into her.

 

_ Fuck. _

 

She is slick, and warm, and he feels her around him and him inside her. He hasn’t moved but his head is light, and his cock is heavy, and he is in paradise.

 

_ Rey. _

 

She is squirming, and he is moving. Every movement is a shock, every time he fills her to the hilt is fire. He is nothing; she is everything. 

 

He is blanketed by her, encapsulated by her, and  _ fuck _ she’s moving in rhythm with him. It’s so much, too much, he groans and he  _ clenches _ his hands in her flesh, it’ll leave a mark but he doesn’t  _ fucking care _ . 

 

Harder.

 

He knows nothing but her, her cunt and her flesh, her breath and one word escaping her lips, over and over.

 

Ben.

 

Ben.

 

_ Ben. _

 

His body is flame, his mind is ashes, he feels only her and she feels only him. 

 

Harder.

 

He presses a thumb to her clit, circling.

 

He feels it first, her orgasm, crashing through the flame like a tsunami. He feels it everywhere on his body: his fingertips, his toes, his hands, his feet, his calves,  _ oh fuck _ his back, his stomach, his cock. She’s shaking, she’s bucking, she’s gasping. 

 

“Ben--”

 

He sees blackness, and he explodes. 

 

Shivers wrack through his body as the sensations drive through every part of him, leaving him bare, raw. He clings onto her, riding through it, seeing stars. 

 

He stops, and she giggles. 

 

_ Giggles _ . Rey. 

 

“Well, I didn’t --” she laughs again when he slips out of her. “I didn’t plan that.”

 

He didn’t, either. He hoped, he dreamed, but never had his dreams come close to the reality. 

 

“So,” she coos, as he rolls her over, cleans between her legs. “Are we going to do this in exile?”

 

“This, and more.” He climbs over her and growls, nipping at the delicate skin of her neck. “So much more.”

 

Between them, now, there is no destruction.

 

Only hope.


End file.
